


Fluorescent Black

by lemoncakeprincess



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming Out, F/F, Femslash, Friends to Lovers, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:09:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4442375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoncakeprincess/pseuds/lemoncakeprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When they kissed it felt like they'd known each other for years. It felt real and soft and like love, something Sansa had never imagined she would feel with someone as perfect as Margaery Tyrell.</i>
</p>
<p>Sansa had thought life might be different for her, since she was now an upperclassman with a popular, rich boyfriend like Joffrey. She'd never thought that the gorgeous new girl would be the one who changed everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. junior

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing fanfic! If you have ANY suggestions, comments, or criticism PLEASE share them! I really want to hear it!

Sansa felt exuberant and blissful and calm all at once. She wanted to scream and sing and dance around the lawn. Most of all, though, she felt perplexed.

In her wildest dreams, Sansa never saw herself standing in the dark, cool midnight air in downtown Portland counting down to the autumnal equinox with a beautiful brunette clinging to her shoulder. It was absolutely blissful.

Normally people at the Autumnal Equinox Festival were thrift shop-clad folks who were happy to get drunk on craft beers and make fools of themselves, peppering the air with occasional exclamations of “Keep Portland weird!” Some men would tie miniature sunflowers in their beards. Others would sit on the grass and look at the stars.

Sansa didn’t do any of that. She just looked at Margaery and wondered how she had ever become friends with someone like her.

***

It seemed to Sansa that just yesterday she was finishing her sophomore year and screaming with her classmates as they rushed outside to enjoy the much-anticipated summer sunshine. Now, she was back inside the crowded halls of Aegon Targaryen High School, at the start of another monotonous school year.

Sansa had thought things might be different, now that she was a junior and had a popular, rich boyfriend. She thought maybe someone would notice her clothes or compliment her new hairstyle. She thought that making herself different would somehow make everything else different, too. After one day back at school, she could attest that very little had changed at all. The freshmen continued to roam around in packs, carrying their textbooks from class to class and believing that their middle school friends would still be their friends at graduation. The seniors pretended to be having more fun than everyone else, when in reality they were stressed out because they had to begin the arduous process of applying to and being rejected by their dream colleges. In class, teachers made the students introduce themselves to classrooms full of kids they had known for years.

Only one thing was really, truly different—Loras and Margaery Tyrell, the new students. All day long, she had heard snippets of hallway conversations mentioning them. Loras, a senior, was apparently gorgeous and tall with stunning cheekbones. In first period, Samantha Andrews, a hopeless gossip, told a fascinated audience that Margaery, a junior like Sansa, was “this totally SoCal grunge type with perfectly curled brown hair but in, like, a super expensive flannel that’s perfectly worn in. She’s got this smirk, like she knows some kind of secret that no one else is in on.”

Before she even met the girl, Sansa was already over the whole event. She was annoyed that this girl and her brother could already be more widely talked about in Aegon Targaryen High in a single day than she had been in the past two years. Then, a few minutes into her third period world history class, a beautiful girl strolled in. She didn’t strut, exactly, but she walked in a way that said she knew that she was the hot new girl and all eyes were on her. She looked a few inches shorter than Sansa, and was wearing a mustard yellow flannel over a shirt from some band Sansa had never heard of.

“You must be Margaery Tyrell,” Ms. Kurtis said, looking up from the pile of papers on her desk that, despite it being just the first day of school, was stacked miraculously high.

“That’s me,” she replied. The smirk that Samantha had mentioned spread across her face. Her lipstick was bright red, a contrast to her warm, tan skin.

“Welcome to Aegon Targaryen. I was just passing out textbooks—to on-time students. Find a seat, and we’ll resume class.”

Margaery nodded and turned her back to the teacher. Sansa glanced up, prepared to avert her eyes at any moment if their gazes met. They didn’t, but Margaery did sit down at Sansa’s table, right across from her.

Margaery hardly spoke a word all class period except to tell the table group her phone number and email address for study group meetings. The other girls at the table tried to talk to her, but she politely dodged even banal questions regarding how she liked the school. During lunch, she sat alone with her nearly equally gorgeous brother. They laughed and joked together, but whenever anyone walked by, they fell silent, their ebullient laughter turning into shared smirks. Joffrey thought that they were being pricks, but Samantha insisted that they were just homeschoolers who didn’t know how to make new friends. “Loras,” she said conspiratorially to the lunch table, “is totally obsessed with soccer. He has a picture of David Beckham as his phone background. I heard he was on one of those teams for homeschooled kids, to help them socialize and stuff.”

Sansa seemed to be the only one who didn’t care to speculate as to whether or not the Tyrells had been homeschooled or gone to a high-class prep school. She didn’t want to listen to her friends’ half-baked theories. It seemed disrespectful—sacrilegious, even—to try to figure out these two people who so obviously didn’t want to be figured out. Whatever they had been before, whatever the reason for their self-imposed isolation, Sansa knew one thing. She didn’t understand the Tyrell siblings.

***

The rest of the week passed slowly, and Sansa could hardly wait for Friday. She had vowed that, since summer was finally over and her boyfriend was home from his summer-long political camp, they would finally go on all of the many dates she had wanted.

She still couldn’t believe that she had a boyfriend. Joffrey. He was handsome and popular, and he was _her boyfriend_.

She had always wanted to have a real boyfriend, someone who would take her out to dinner and buy her roses and dance with her. It would be just like a love song. Finally, with the first school week of the year behind them, Joffrey took her out on a date, the first real date of both their relationship and of Sansa’s life. When she opened the door, it was exactly like something from a Julia Roberts movie.

In the waning light of the setting sun, Joffrey grinned and pulled out a small bouquet of brightly colored flowers from behind his back. They were beautiful, and Sansa was thrilled. They had been together for three months, but he had been away for most of that time, and this was the first time that he, or any boy, for that matter, had brought her flowers. She gushed over them and Joffrey smiled back.

Dinner was at a strange, high-end Mexican-Chinese fusion restaurant in the city. The drive took nearly forty-five minutes, and Joff yelled at the traffic for nearly half of that before Sansa reached across the central console of his BMW to hold his hand. At first, he slapped her hand away and kept shouting. It hurt her feelings, but Joff was always like that. On her third try, he conceded and, with interlocked fingers, they continued down the highway, Joffrey shouting out his window at the stupid pricks who didn’t know a damn thing about driving.

At the restaurant, despite being twenty minutes late for their reservation, they were seated right away at a secluded table in a small, dimly lit room in the back. Whispering in Sansa’s ear, Joff explained that his grandfather owned it. “We could arrive an hour after the damn place closed, and they’d still have to serve us their finest,” he whispered smugly. She shivered when she felt the warm wetness of his breath on her neck, loving the feeling of Joffrey’s closeness to her.

_He was her boyfriend_.

When the server brought their menus, Joff shooed them away. “That won’t be needed. We already know what we want,” he said, never breaking eye contact with her. Sansa gave her boyfriend a questioning look since she had no idea what Chinese-Mexican fusion food even _was_ , let alone what she wanted to eat. He gave her a sly grin and ordered a variety of tacos, dim sum, noodles, and enchiladas that he thought she would enjoy.

After the waiter left, he told Sansa, “I knew that you wouldn’t have a clue about what the menu was saying, so I ordered for the both of us. I saved you loads of trouble, Sansa.” In the end, she was grateful that he had been thoughtful enough to order for her. The food ended up being wonderful, an incomparable mix of different spices that was like nothing she had ever tasted before.

After dinner, they went to a drive-in theatre just outside of the city. She had wanted to go back to Joff’s house and watch a romantic comedy, something with Sandra Bullock, but he had insisted that they instead go to the drive-in and watch a scary movie.

This was a less enjoyable part of the evening for Sansa. Horror movies always left her with weeks of terrible nightmares and sleepless nights. She was so scared of the movie that she was relieved when, after nearly half an hour of watching gory scenes unfold onscreen, Joffrey leaned over and started kissing her neck. When they were alone, he sometimes tried to go too far for Sansa’s taste, kiss too hard, grab too much, but she was glad he was there. In all the movies, the girl’s boyfriend is the one who keeps away her nightmares.

That night, Sansa didn’t have her usual terrible nightmares about ghosts or possessed dolls or mass murderers. Instead, they were replaced by dreams of Joff’s hands in places they shouldn’t be, of her pushing him off of her only to find his lips relocated from her neck to her shoulder to her collarbones, and her wondering why she couldn’t just let him love her. All he wanted to do was love her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joffrey won't be around for too long! Don't worry :)


	2. two things

The Tyrells arrived at school together every day, without fail. That Monday morning, they emerged from Loras’s perfectly white Jeep Wrangler in nearly matching black and white ensembles and marched into the school commons. The pair marched with the self-assuredness of wilderness itself come to reclaim an abandoned landscape.

Instead of sitting by themselves in the corner of the common room, they went separate ways. They seemed to dance through the huge room, greeting each person in sight. Everyone, from socialite Samantha to the school band’s hopelessly weird drum major, Hot Pie, was given a flash of Margaery’s beaming smile as she shook their hand and introduced herself.  Her face was a summer morning sky, bright and mystically calm.

In world history, Margaery, like usual, quietly took her seat at the table. Instead of sitting across from Sansa, however, she sat next to her, her curly, rose-scented hair dangerously near to Sansa’s face. Sansa had been out with Joffrey before school, but she had heard about Margaery and her brother’s strange escapade. Sansa thought that it was a really nice thing of her to do.

“Hi. Sansa, right?” Margaery asked with a smile, somehow making it believable that she still didn’t know Sansa’s name, despite the absurdity of such a thing. Sansa hid a smile, realizing that Margaery must have remembered that she hadn’t been in the school commons that morning. It was kind of sweet.

“Yeah, Sansa Stark. And you’re Margaery Tyrell.” Sansa smiled courteously as she said it, trying to make it seem casual, as if she wasn’t melting inside at Margaery’s thoughtfulness. She kept on tapping her fingers to beat of the pulsing theme of the horror movie she’d seen on Friday with Joff. The tune hadn’t left her head.

“You catch on quick, Sans,” she responded with sarcasm. She quirked her eyebrow in amusement. Her eyes sparkled when she smiled, in the captivating, subtle way that only deep brown eyes like hers could. She was really, really pretty, and nice, too. Sansa knew that, if Margaery played her cards right, she could quickly rise through the ranks to become one of the most popular girls in the school. “So, tell me,” Margaery continued. “How was your weekend?”

Remembering her date, Sansa’s face went blank before she let out a small grin, nothing compared to Margaery’s beautiful one. She had been dreading, but also looking forward to, this moment all morning long. She knew that someone was bound to ask her about her weekend and how her date with her handsome, rich, amazing boyfriend had been, and she just wished that she could be honest when she said it was all she had hoped for and more. It had been awkward conversations and a too-long makeout session, though, not smiling so much your face hurt and a romantic walk in the park.

“It was nice. I went out with my boyfriend, Joffrey, which was fun.”

“Oh, it must have been!” she marveled, as if Sansa were telling her that she had met the Queen of England. “He’s very handsome. I heard he took you into the city, to one of his grandfather’s restaurants!”

“He did,” Sansa said, not knowing what else to say. Margaery’s kindness blew every fuse in her brain.

“That’s nice of him!” Margaery interrupted, taking the conversation back. Leaning over conspiratorially, she continued, “I wish more of my dates were as noble as all that.”

 “He’s great,” Sansa shrugged. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Margaery pulled away, her loose curls brushing Sansa’s arm, a dusting of cheerful roses. Her lips twisted once more into a small smirk, her eyes taunting Sansa. Conspiratorially, she said, “I don’t really do ‘boyfriends.’ Haven’t since junior high.”

_Oh._ Sansa giggled at her directness. Girls usually didn’t admit so openly to promiscuity. They were often ashamed of being what Joffrey would call a “hit it and quit it” girl, but Margaery seemed strangely confident about it. Sansa ransacked her mind for something to say, finding nothing in it but secondhand embarrassment for Margaery and other people’s anecdotes.

“Well, if that’s your type of thing,” she blurted, “there’s a party at Joff’s on Friday night. You should come.” Words ran out of her mouth without thought as her mind rushed to repair its circuitry.

Sansa knew that there would be plenty of guys there who were just looking for a hookup. From the sound of things, it would be just up Margaery’s alley.

“I might just have to! I heard that his house is an absolute mansion!” Margaery gushed, not seeming to notice Sansa’s awkwardness.

As the classroom slowly filled up around them and Margaery continued to tell her the amazing things she had heard about the Baratheon house, the fuses in Sansa’s mind slowly began to repair. She couldn’t help but think that, just maybe, junior year would be different after all.

***

Sansa came to look forward to two things more than anything else: history class with Margaery and lunch with Joffrey.

During history, Margaery would chat with Sansa as the classroom filled around them. Margaery wouldn’t speak a word once Ms. Kurtis began her lesson, but their conversations before class were enough to make Sansa’s day. Margaery knew fascinating tidbits of gossip about their peers, but what Sansa loved most was watching her face light up as she told stories from her life in Santa Barbara, like the drama in the alternative music scene, or her friend from home’s modelling contract, or how unfair it was that a style of shoes she’d worn in middle school was just _now_ in fashion. It was stuff only Margaery could ever care about, but Sansa giggled and complained along with her.

Lunch was bliss, most days. After a week enduring Samantha’s constant gossiping, Joffrey grew tired of it and decided that he and Sansa should spend it privately, outside in the backseat of his car. He would listen as she told him stories about her siblings Arya and Jon begging their stalwart father to allow them to take in stray dogs or cats or raccoons, depending on what they happened to find on any given day. Every day, like clockwork, Joffrey would kiss her neck right as she got within seconds of the end of her story. She’d laugh and push him off, and he would laugh back. She’d finish her story, purposefully drawing it out to tease Joff, and then crawl on top of him and kiss him until the bell rang, calling them back to school with sly smiles spread across their rosy cheeks and Joffrey’s blonde hair mussed to perfection.


	3. rabbit soul collective

Sansa’s house was a mess, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. On Thursday, she had spent the evening tidying up the place. It had been hard work throwing away the bags of chips scattered around the living room, attempting to cover up the smell of greasy pizza boxes, and cleaning the dogs’ hair off of the couch, but she had done it. By Friday morning, however, her work was reversed by her crazy siblings and their friends.

She would have hated for Margaery to be overwhelmed by the chaos when she showed up to get ready for the party. Most of Sansa’s friends knew that her quiet, clean attitude was the exception in the assertive, loud, and downright messy Stark family. She was sure that her new friend had heard the same thing, but she didn’t want Margaery to think her family was full of slobs. She was a chance for a new start.

So, Sansa tried to get her brother Robb and his creepy friend to turn down their blaring ‘80s rock music and quiet the dogs’ barking. She at least wanted to hear the doorbell.

She didn’t.

By some miracle, her siblings Jon and Arya emerged from one of their marathon video game sessions in the basement to seek out a box of Cheez-Its and some Gatorade just as the doorbell rang. It was Arya, clad in stained sweatpants and sporting a Kool-Aid-blue tongue, who opened the front door and pointed a smirking brunette upstairs to Sansa’s room.

As she walked through Sansa’s doorway and closed the door, Margaery burst into a fit of laughter. Margaery hugged her as she laughed, unable to contain it. Sansa hugged her back and it was lovely, but she was confused. She hoped to God that one of her siblings hadn’t done anything too embarrassing.

It wasn’t until Margaery stopped laughing and fell onto the bed that she was able to finally, with a giggle, tell Sansa, “Your sister is the most un-you person I’ve ever seen!”

Sansa sighed in agreement and sat down next to Margaery, who was sprawled across her bed. “Tell me about it,” she said, agitatedly running a pale hand through her light auburn hair. “Sometimes, I think I’m the one who was adopted, not Jon.”

“Honestly!” her friend shrieked, turning over onto her stomach and placing a soft, cold hand on Sansa’s knee. “This place is ridiculous! There were seven empty bowls of cereal outside of one of the bedrooms! _Seven_!”

“Do you want to know the worst part?” Sansa asked, peering down, the corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly.

Margaery looked up to meet Sansa’s gaze. “Do tell.”

Sansa confessed with a laugh that she had cleaned the entire place up just yesterday, and the whole mess had happened since then. They laughed together, wondering over the extreme messiness of her family.

When they finally started to get dressed for Joffrey’s party, Margaery scoffed at Sansa’s clothing choice. She had picked out a dark purple long sleeve top and a pair of black skinny jeans, which Margaery found far too modest for a party. Sansa justified that the weather was supposed to be pretty chilly. It was Washington State, after all. Sansa’s life was filled with rainy days and ever-changing temperatures, not the sunny days Margaery was accustomed to.

Margaery made Sansa cover her eyes and turn around as she got dressed. Her other friends usually didn’t usually do that, but Sansa understood. She was pretty shy, too, and didn’t like feeling exposed.

Margaery had a perfect body. When Sansa was finally permitted to turn around and see her, she was impressed by how well a seventeen-year-old could wear such adult-like clothing. In the cheap light of a desk lamp, the scattered sequins on Margaery’s tight-fitting, strapless black dress and silver pumps sparkled. With a giggle and a wolf-whistle, Sansa exclaimed, “You’re hot!”

Margaery wiggled her dark eyebrows at Sansa. “That’s what all the girls say, hon. Now, come over here and get this last little part of the zipper!”

Sansa walked toward the light of her desk lamp to help her. As she pressed her pale hands to Margaery’s back, she couldn’t help but notice with a shiver how smooth her tan skin was. It came over her like a wave of gentleness, a wave of _Margaery_.

She rushed to finish zipping the dress and return to sit on her bed. Margaery inspected herself in a mirror hung on the wall, oblivious to Sansa’s discomfort. Sansa struggled to find something to say, something to diffuse the weird feeling in the air. “Margaery,” she finally said slowly, “since when do you dress up this much? You didn’t seem like the type, honestly.”

The other girl whipped around, her loose curls flying through the air. Hand to her heart, she gasped. “Sansa, I’m shocked and dismayed! What ‘type’ am I, if not Hollywood glamor?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, shrugging with a mocking smile. “The casual weird flannel-and-hoodie hipster type who listens to Rabbit Soul Collection?”

“It’s ‘Rabbit Soul Collective,’ Sans. If you’re going to mock me, you should at least have the decency to get your facts straight,” she retorted. One of her signature smug smirks fought to surface, but Margaery fought back, struggling to keep a straight face. “And I will have you know that when I was in Santa Barbara, I went to their fourth-ever show, and now they’re a huge deal throughout the West Coast. I was a bit of a pioneer.”

“Oh, really?” Sansa smiled back. Sometimes, Margaery’s deadpan humor was over the top, but she was adorable. “I’ll have _you_ know that I went to One Direction’s show in Seattle this summer and now they’re a huge deal, all thanks to me, of course.”

Margaery cracked. Walking over to sit next to Sansa, she let out a snort that grew into a deep belly laugh. “I can’t do it anymore, Sans!” Her laughter was a wide sound, filling the room. “I’m sorry but you’re just so _different_ from everyone in Santa Barbara! They practically died when I told them that I saw Rabbit Soul Collective live, and no one here cares!” Her face fell and she adopted a very serious tone. “Sansa, it seems that my street cred is worth nothing here.”

Equally seriously, Sansa responded, “Have you tried using actually interesting pieces of conversation? That’s pretty popular around here.”

Margaery hit her shoulder. “I’m fascinating, Sansa.”

As they did their hair and makeup, Margaery told her all about how transformative it had been to see Rabbit Soul Collective perform live and Sansa couldn’t stop smiling. Margaery was really, really weird.


	4. runaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting two chapters at once, because I was so slow to update :)

Sansa hated parties. She always seemed to spend them on smelly couches, crammed between friends and couples who were, invariably, having more fun than she was.

She expected that night to maybe be a little bit okay, since she had a new friend to stay by her side and defend her when she couldn’t take any more of Joffrey’s party antics or had to leave because of the headaches she inevitably got from his muggy basement.

It wasn’t. Her legs felt numb and her head was throbbing from the hot air inside. She sat out on the porch, shivering in the thin glow of the moon.

When she and Margaery had arrived at the party, the Baratheons’ driveway had already been crowded with cars. Margaery had to park her car way out in the middle of a field by the house. She’d had a pair of tennis shoes in her car, so she didn’t have to walk through the muddy grass and ruin her pumps, but Sansa had no such luck.

When they finally arrived on Joffrey’s front porch, Margaery was out of breath and Sansa’s shoes were in perfect condition. Margaery, breathing heavily, panted out that she had been joking when she had offered to carry Sansa.

Sansa had just laughed and gone into her boyfriend’s house, leaving her gorgeous pack mule on the porch to pout and recover her breath. The next time Margaery saw her, she was in the basement, pressed against the arm of a dark leather couch, Joffrey’s tongue down her throat.

He tasted like cigarettes and cheap beer. She hated when Joff drank. He kissed her too hard and he salivated too much, and he somehow smelled stronger—more _him_. It was like he tried to make a spectacle of their relationship, trying to scream at the top of his lungs in the form of his hands grabbing at her skin. Touching her was the only thing he cared about doing when he was like this, but she felt more like she was being attacked than loved. Sometimes, Sansa wished that she drank, since maybe alcohol would be the miracle-worker it was proclaimed to be and make drunken Joffrey more tolerable, but she hated breaking rules.

She wished that Margaery would have come over and asked her to help her with her hair or something, but she just left. Sansa hadn’t exactly told Margaery that saving her from drunken Joffrey was part of her job description for the night, but she’d assumed it was implied.

To her relief, there were enough people around that, after a few minutes, Sansa was able to push him off and escape without too much protest. He hated it when she abandoned him, but she couldn’t stand to be around him when he was like this.

She looked around for Margaery. The surrounding rooms were filled with buzzed teenagers shouting and taking selfies and gossiping. There were so many rooms in Joffrey’s basement, but she couldn’t find her friend in any of them.

She resolved that Margaery was probably off somewhere with a boy, and went up the wooden staircase to the main level of the house. Joffrey’s parents weren’t home, but he always contained his parties to the basement because the others were chockablock with expensive furniture and art. Their grand piano, he had once told her, was a Steinway that cost tens of thousands of dollars. The upper levels were decidedly off-limits.

Before he had left for summer camp, Sansa had been to three or four of his parties, and the main floor was where she sometimes went when she needed a moment of silence. After they started dating, Joffrey didn’t let her go upstairs, because he hated being abandoned. Her visits to the main floor were shorter and less frequent, but they were necessary. She could only stand being in the pressing heat of the basement for so long before her breath started to quicken and her head started to reel.

***

Sansa sat under the yellow lamplight on the porch for a while before she heard the door begin to open. She turned her head to see who was coming out the door, half expecting it to be Joffrey angrily looking for her, as he usually did, but she was disappointed. It was just a group of girls loudly walking to their car. They walked past her without a second glance.

It was nearly enough to make her cry. She felt invisible.

Her so-called friends didn’t care about her enough to invite her to hang out with them when they went to the mall or out to coffee. Boys thought she was pretty, but Joffrey was the only boy who had ever liked her enough to even flirt with her, let alone ask her out on a real date. He was handsome, and any one of her friends would have been happy to stay in the basement with him and kiss him back. He was so kind to her, and she didn’t deserve him.

Margaery paid attention to her, but she was so nice to everyone that it hardly counted in Sansa’s mind. She’d greeted _Hot Pie_ , for God’s sake. She had said hello to him every morning that week! In a few weeks, once she inevitably rose to the top of the harsh social pyramid at Aegon Targaryen High, she would forget all about the nice little redhead who she’d befriended as a new student. Sansa would become just another Hot Pie in the crowd for her to wave to before school.

She heard the door creak open again and rushed to wipe the tears from her eyes on her shirtsleeves. She tensed when she saw that it was one of Joffrey’s friends, a weasel-faced boy named Jack who was sure to tell him that his girlfriend was out crying on the porch. He’d probably been sent by Joffrey as a scout to find her. Joff had done that before.

Trailing behind Jack was, to Sansa’s surprise, Margaery. The two of them sat down on the stair next to her. Jack moved chaotically, his heavy movements made deafeningly loud in the silent night. He sat between the two girls and coughed, clearing phlegm from his throat. With the three teenagers in a row on the stair, the night fell silent, aside from Jack’s constant sniffling. Sansa struggled to hide the fact that she had been crying just moments before.

It was awkward.

Margaery, her silky movements a contrast to Jack’s rough ones, squeezed his hand. “You can go back inside, Jack. Thanks for helping me find her.” Her voice was tired and weak, as if she had aged a hundred years during the hour that she and Sansa had been separated.

He nodded and cleared his throat again. He addressed Sansa. “You should come inside. We were looking for you.” When she nodded, he roughly stood up and noisily went back into the house.

She and Margaery sat together, the cold air, far quieter in his absence, settling around them. Margaery leaned against the staircase railing, watching Sansa with weary eyes.

Sansa was the one to break the silence. “I know you want to know why I was crying, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

Seconds passed, heavy seconds. Margaery stirred, sitting up from her bent position. “Do you want to go for a drive?”

Sansa brought a sleeve to her eyes again. “Where?”

“Somewhere new,” Margaery sighed. Her voice sounded nearly as emotionally drained as Sansa felt.

Sansa gripped her hand lightly and stood, pulling her to her feet. With slow, far-away movements, as if she were underwater, Margaery changed into the muddy pair of tennis shoes that she had left on the concrete. With Sansa once again on her back, she walked away from the bright porch and into the dark field, the mud beneath her feet squelching with each step.


	5. river bend

Margaery sighed as she noisily closed the car door behind her. She had gone behind the car and changed into workout clothes, complaining of the itchiness of her dress. Sansa wanted to ask if she was okay—she was acting very strangely—but she didn’t have a chance. Margaery gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands and exhaled loudly. “That’s one of the worst parties I’ve ever been to. No offense.”

Sansa looked down at her lap, where her slim hands were folded neatly. She didn’t know what to day.

Margaery didn’t need any prompting. She stirred in her seat, turning to look at Sansa directly. “They don’t do anything _fun_ here, Sansa. Everyone sits around and talks! The craziest thing anyone did was a minute-long headstand, for God’s sake!” She shook her head vigorously, shaking the wasted night behind her from her memory. She continued her speech, saying, “Sansa, we’re going to do something real. Okay?”

Confused, Sansa nodded her head. Disagreement wouldn’t have made any difference; Margaery had already started the car. In the dim lighting of the Jeep, her eyes filled with piercing determination.

Sansa didn’t understand her friend’s mood. An atmosphere of absence hung around her, as if she were sitting on the floor in the middle of a crowded subway station, people rushing by her. Something must have happened.

The stop of the engine’s hum stirred Sansa from her contemplation. She expected to see her house, but instead she looked up to find a parking lot tinged with the orange light of streetlamps. Margaery went around to her side and opened her door for her, then took her hand and led her away from the orange lot and into the midnight darkness of a park.

Once they were far out of sight of the car, they sat. Margaery lay on the ground, staring at the moon above them. After leaning against a tree and staring at her friend for what seemed to be hours, Sansa finally worked up the courage to ask her if something had happened.

Margaery nodded, an awkward movement in her position on the ground. “Yeah, Sans. Something happened.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sansa asked reservedly. She hadn’t seen her new friend so tense before. She hoped she wouldn’t get too mad at her for asking.

“I guess so. But you might hate me if I do.” Margaery smiled thinly, sardonically.

“I won’t hate you,” Sansa responded, hoping she wouldn’t hate her.

Quietly, solemnly, she confessed, “Joffrey kissed me.”

Sansa had, for all of the three months she’d been dating him, expected a confession from some girl or another, perhaps even a good friend, that Joffrey had done something of this sort. She’d expected the moment to be one of piercing pain, a world-crashing, soul-wrenching, hand-trembling moment of paralysis.

Less than an hour ago, she had cried over a lack of friendship, and now she had an unfaithful boyfriend. She should have been thrown into sobs, and yet, the pale grey moonlight continued to shine. Her hands went to the chain about her neck, a simple gift from Joffrey she had treasured as a symbol of whatever was between them—not love, exactly, but a relationship that might grow into love. She waited for the angry, burning sensation of touching something from _him_ , but it never came. The metal was cold against her delicate skin.

Choosing her words carefully, Sansa began to speak, surprised by her ability to even breathe. “I’m not angry with you.”

Margaery’s face remained soft, distant, as she hazed up at the moon above. “I’m sorry. Really, Sansa, I mean it.”

Sansa repositioned herself, scooting away from the tree trunk and lying down at Margaery’s side, facing her. The girl didn’t move, keeping her stare fixed on the moon above.

She spoke in a hushed tone, her throat suddenly feeling dry. Her voice sounded brittle. “He’s handsome and he’s usually very kind. He loves being with me and kissing me and holding my hand. He’s great, Margaery.” Her hands fumbled with a button on her shirtsleeve as she stared at the girl’s unaltered expression, unable to read it. With her next hushed words, her earlier tears begin to brim, bringing an ocean blue shade to her eyes.  “I wanted to love him, Margaery. I really, really wanted to love him.”

Margaery embraced Sansa and they held tightly to one another, pressing their bodies close until they were no longer discrete, but a single being of comfort and compassion.

They lay there for minutes, hours, days. After an eternity in one another’s arms, Sansa whispered a question into Margaery’s ear. Margaery smiled widely in delight. “Of course I still want to do something real. Duh!”

She responded casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. They stood together, grinning at each other and holding hands as Sansa rushed to lead Margaery further from the car, further into the park.

Ahead of them lay a line of trees bordered by a thick fence of weeds. They slipped through in a small opening where there a trail of beaten down dirt lay. The girls wove down a hill through the trees in the dark, Sansa pointing out rocks to not step on and branches to duck under, until the vegetation thinned and they were again out in the open.

They were on the bank of a lazily moving river. Just around the river bend to their left, a decrepit trestle spanned the waterway. In the hot months of the year, this would be a chaotic swimming spot for local high school students. They weren’t really Sansa’s crowd—they were mostly concerned with getting high—but she had been there once or twice out of a feeling of social obligation.

With the bright, pale moonlight above her and Margaery by her side, the swimming hole seemed to take on an entirely new, tranquil atmosphere. She felt brave with Margaery around, fearless. She knew maybe Margaery was only being kind to her because it was her nature, but out in the dark night under the illumination of the moon, she didn’t care. All that mattered was that someone was there with her, sharing an adventure, and that that someone was, somehow, the lovely, stunning, kind-hearted Margaery Tyrell.

She turned to her friend and giggled, biting her lip to prevent a giddy grin from breaking out across her face. “Do you want to go swimming? The river’s safe here and-”

Margaery cut her off with a grin as she began to take her shorts and t-shirt off. They both stripped down to just bras and underwear, Sansa doing so shyly turned away from Margaery, but Margaery seeming to forget the modesty she’d shown earlier in Sansa’s bedroom.

Sansa was the first to make contact with the water, slowly dipping a toe in and delightedly finding it a pleasant temperature, despite the warm sun having set hours previously. She waded gingerly into the water, her toes sinking into the mud, until she finally brought her body down into the river water and dunked herself completely.

“Come on in,” Sansa yelled invitingly from the water. She hadn’t felt so blithe and carefree in ages. Margaery stood on the riverbank, folding her arms over her chest and shivering. Sansa didn’t feel cold, but Margaery was used to a warmer world. More than the cold plagued her mind, however. She bit the inside of her lip and pinched her eyebrows together, watching Sansa in the water. Just seconds before she had been giddy with excitement, but she appeared anxious.

Sansa paid no mind to Margaery’s rapid shift in attitude. Her all-too-heavy allegiance to etiquette abandoned her, her capricious attitude of the night taking over. She pulled Margaery into the river with a battle cry. Margaery shrieked. War erupted as the girls splashed each other with mounting vigor, their loud hollers echoing in the night.

It was nearly two in the morning when, soaked to the bone and still hooting in laughter, they tramped back up the hillside and to the parking lot. Margaery always shone incandescently, radiating brightness and warmth, but her body was an icicle. Sansa affectionately wrapped her limbs around the girl to keep her warm.

As they drove away in Margaery’s car, their wet hair and bodies soaking the seats, Sansa gazed lazily out the window. When they parked, Margaery quietly unlocked her front door and took Sansa into her house, sneaking her past her brother’s bedroom and into her own. In the attached bathroom, still filled with boxes of clothes and books that she hadn’t unpacked from the move, they dried themselves more, trying not to wake up the other Tyrells with their muffled snickers.

Margaery offered her a set of pajamas, and she settled into Margaery’s soft bed while the other girl was in the bathroom. She drifted off to sleep quickly, exhausted.


	6. trick of the light

The late summer sun shone bright in the morning sky, a barrage of yellow light radiating through bare, uncovered windows and into Margaery’s bedroom. The bed creaked as Sansa woke. She stretched her arms, a yawn escaping her.

Curled on the beanbag in the corner of the room, Margaery stirred. She blinked her eyes open, scratched her neck and ran her fingers through her chestnut brown hair, wild from air-drying. Sansa could only imagine what her own hair looked like.

Margaery rose and made her way over to the bed. She waited for a nod from Sansa before climbing in next to her. They faced one another, their eyes level. Margaery gave her a small smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Sansa mirrored softly.

“Are you hungry?” she inquired.

Sansa shook her head as much as the thick pillow would allow.

“It’s still really early,” she said. She briefly twisted her back to glance at a clock on the nightstand behind her. “Five in the morning.”

Sansa groaned grumpily. “On a Saturday! Why is it so bright?” She moaned again. She had never been a morning person. For an entire month when she was twelve, her brother Jon would pick nights at random to set alarms in Sansa’s room and wake her up at all hours. It was a wonderful joke to him, knowing that she was never able to fall back asleep. Jon learned quickly that the terror of a sleepless Sansa was much, much more dreadful than the laughter from waking her up was good. Out of an animalistic instinct for self-preservation, he stopped pranking her.

She rolled over and pressed her face into her pillow.

Margaery made to get out of bed, but Sansa stopped her, grabbing her wrist. “Don’t go,” she groaned, turning to look at her.

An uncomfortable expression flashed across her face, but it only lasted for an instant before her usual wide smile took back its place and she was Margaery again—cheerful, nice, lovely Margaery. Lying with her was relaxing. She didn’t feel the need to fill every silent moment with chatter. Sansa cuddled into her, resting her head on the other girl’s shoulder.

They were both silent. Sansa watched shadows shift in the bedroom. Sometimes, shadows of birds outside darted across the wall as undefined shapes. A mirror that leaned sloppily against one of Margaery’s walls threw light around the room.

Watching the light, her thoughts drifted until they became weighted down by one heavy, consuming question. “Margaery,” she said softly. It was a question, a search for attention.

“Yes?”

“What did you do when Joffrey kissed you?”

Margaery was unfazed by the question. Sansa had noticed that her new friend had a bizarre ability to respond to almost any situation, no matter how bad or good, in a perfectly composed way. “I pushed the bastard off of me,” she answered, without a squirm or a hint of second thoughts in her voice.

“But what did he do?”

“He snarled at me, but I just turned around and walked away. He was shouting, but I kept on walking.”

“I’m sorry.”

Margaery shook her head softly. “No. You don’t need to be sorry.”

Sansa hated it when people said that. No matter how apparent it was that the blame in a situation wasn’t hers to bear, she felt somehow responsible and apologized profusely. It was something that she tried to stop, but, rather than change her ways, she often found herself apologizing for apologizing too much. “I know,” she whispered into Margaery’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Really, Sansa. I’m the one who should be asking about you. Are you sure you’re not angry?” Her words were imbued with caring, no longer emotionless.

Sansa was sure. She liked Joffrey. Just the previous night, she had cried for love of him, and yet she didn’t feel upset at him. She liked the way he looked at her, the way her listened to her silly stories, the way he laughed and held her hand, but she wasn’t angry. Moments with him, however innocent they were, had an electrical buzz of badness about them. She couldn’t explain it, but even their happiest moments were charged with a subliminal sense of danger.

“I’m going to break up with him,” Sansa said, trying her best to imbue the words with confidence. Margaery gripped her hand tightly, as if squeezing it would transfer her energy to Sansa.

***

A few hours of restless sleep later, Sansa descended the staircase and walked toward the kitchen, a huge smile spread across her face. She was so proud of herself. She had called Joffrey and done it. Joffrey hadn’t answered, and she’d had to leave a voicemail, but she had _done it_ nonetheless. She felt a strange sense of freedom, a huge weight lifted from her shoulders.

She stopped outside the kitchen. Inside, hushed, angry words were being exchanged. It was Margaery and her mother.

“You know my rules, Margaery. They’re the same for Loras. No exceptions,” she reprimanded, her words spitting and serpentine.

Margaery pleaded with her mother, her voice broken and quiet. “I promise, Mother, it was nothing, really! She doesn’t even know. Sansa’s a friend, the only real friend I have here. She just slept-“

“You broke the rules,” her mother spat, “no matter how innocent it was, you defied me.”

Sansa swallowed, her throat growing tense. Margaery, who had been so thoughtful and caring and gentle, was in trouble because of _her_. She wetted her lips and tried to smile, but she’d never been a very good actress. Her heart raced as she walked into the kitchen.

Sansa only saw the truth of the scene for an instant. Margaery’s mother was tall, scarecrow thin, with long, bony legs. She scowled fiercely, her thin eyebrows knitted and her mouth twisted in anger.

As she sensed Sansa turning into the doorway, she plastered a saccharine smile across her face and took a slight step away from Margaery, whose expression remained unchanged, a shocked mix of fear and sadness, her chest rising and falling quickly with her unsteady breath.

Sansa smiled back. “Good morning, Mrs. Tyrell,” she said in greeting, trying to keep her voice solid. Her heart raced with the lie she played out.

“Good morning,” Margaery’s mother said, beaming widely. “I wish I would have had time to prepare breakfast for you girls, but Margaery didn’t inform me that we would be having guests.” She said the words almost gloatingly, reveling.

Sansa tried to be casual. She hadn’t even heard anything bad, and she didn’t understand why she felt so nervous, why she couldn’t just be normal. Her sister would be fine in this situation. She hated, hated, _hated_ acting. “That’s alright! I was going to head home soon.”

Mrs. Tyrell wouldn’t have it, insisting that Sansa stay for breakfast. Margaery was visibly uncomfortable. She flared her nostrils and looked up at the ceiling, silent. Her breath refused to even out. She appeared to be on the edge of tears, and Sansa badly wanted to comfort her, but she couldn’t. Not in front of Mrs. Tyrell, who, as she walked around the kitchen getting together cooking supplies—pancake mix, oil, bowls, pans—never seemed to take her eyes off of Sansa.

She interrogated her, asking about her family, her classes, her extracurricular activities. Sansa always made good impressions on her friends’ parents, but Mrs. Tyrell seemed to have negative preconceived notions of her. The woman was political in her inquisition, and Sansa doubted that she would have noticed if she hadn’t heard the earlier hushed exchange, but all of her questions were asked pointedly, as if trying to pry from Sansa some piece of damning evidence that would justify her bad opinion of her daughter’s new friend.

As a plate stacked with pancakes was placed in front of Sansa, Margaery finally found her voice. “Thanks for breakfast, Mom,” she said, her voice sweet, trying to be kind. It was a hollow attempt. In return, Mrs. Tyrell gave Margaery a saccharine smile before continuing her examination of Sansa.

When they finally escaped outside, Margaery remained downcast. Sansa stood awkwardly, twisting the flimsy handles of the plastic grocery bag holding her clothes. Margaery stared at her feet, her hands balled up inside the pockets of her maroon zip-up hoodie. “I’m sorry my mother was so inquisitive,” she said finally. “She’s not usually like that.”

Sansa shook her head. “She was fine! She seemed nice.” Acting, again. Sansa hated it. Acting was little more than a prolonged lie.

Margaery, wordless, unlocked her car and they climbed inside. She gunned her engine to life and backed out of the driveway. They drove in silence. Margaery was restless, words on the edge of her tongue jumping to be spoken.

Sansa withstood it for a few minutes, hoping that Margaery’s urge to speak would win out. Finally, she had to say something. “I know you were fighting and I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any kind of problem.”

Margaery exhaled deeply. “You weren’t the problem. You were perfect.”

“Then what’s wrong?” she asked angrily. She had heard Mrs. Tyrell’s words—she’d done something bad, whatever Margaery tried to say.

“The problem isn’t you, Sansa. It’s me.” Margaery stared straight ahead piercingly, refusing to make eye contact with the other girl. “My mother hates me.”

Sansa shook her head in disbelief. “I doubt your mother hates you!”

“I promise you, she does,” Margaery replied flatly.

“Come on,” Sansa insisted, “she can’t hate you! She’s your mother.”

“And I am, to her dismay, her daughter.” Her voice remained emotionless, her demeanor unaffected by the harsh words she was saying.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you for a daughter,” Sansa insisted. She was from a family that loved unconditionally. She found it ridiculous that Margaery—sweet, loving Margaery—could ever do anything that would make her mother hate her.

“You don’t know the whole story, Sansa.”

“Then tell me,” she suggested, unyielding.

Margaery let out a deep breath. “I'm gay.”


	7. voicemail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two notes! First, I accidentally posted the wrong version of the last chapter. I edited it about an hour after I originally posted the chapter. The only major difference is in the last few lines. You'll want to reread the last few lines for this chapter to make sense :) Second, I decided that the next few chapters are going to be from Margaery's POV. I don't generally like shifting the POV in my writing, but it works really well with this story! I hope you enjoy! :)

Margaery’s throat was tight. The hot air pushing out of the vents did nothing to warm her cold face, numb with the all-too-familiar anxiety of letting another person in on her secret, giving another person the key to a part of herself that for so long had been hers alone. _Still should be._ She couldn’t look at Sansa and risk seeing the nauseating mix of horror and disgust that had become so well known to her. She gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles.

As Margaery signaled to turn off the interstate, Sansa reached out to touch her arm. Even through the layers of clothing separating them, her touch burned with the unknown. Was her touch a friend’s comfort to a friend or a saint’s comfort to a sinner? The ticking of the turn signal scratched at Margaery’s ears, her leaping heartbeat keeping time.

“Thank you for telling me, Marg.” Sansa spoke the words so simply. They carried none of the powerful complexities that Margaery had hoped for, no telling emotions. They were politely smiled, generic words that anyone could have said without revealing any of the meaning behind them. Margaery bobbed her head slightly, giving a faint nod in recognition of Sansa’s half-words.

The girl withdrew her hand from Margaery’s shoulder. “I mean it,” she said. “I don’t care that you like girls.” Her voice hitched tellingly as she spoke the last part of her sentence, just like the voice of every friend before her. Margaery had heard this lied speech of acceptance and love countless times. Without fail, the girls who she thought were her friends would soon begin finding excuses not to be around her.

Her throat was dry and words slow to come from her mouth. “Thanks, that means a lot,” she uttered, mustering all the sweetness she could. She tried to give Sansa one of the wide, beaming smiles that always seemed to diffuse discomfort so well, but her attempts at happiness came off as fake. She kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, unable to bring herself to meet Sansa’s eyes.

Her heart beat loudly in her chest. As she pulled into the Starks’ driveway, the mental sigh of relief at the closeness of the Stark home made her chest ache with guilt, but she needed Sansa gone. She needed to be alone. When she stopped the car, she had to finally look at Sansa. She rested her eyes on the girl’s shoulder. It was a safe spot. Sansa reached over and took one of Margaery’s hands in her own. Margaery wanted to recoil from the friendly touch, but she knew that she couldn’t. Sansa told her something about calling her, some kind words, but Margaery paid no mind. She stared at the girl’s shoulder and mechanically nodded and smiled in the right places of her speech.

When Sansa finally said goodbye once and for all, Margaery’s Jeep was blessedly silent. The only sounds in the car were air whooshing from the vents and indistinguishable acoustic guitar music on the radio. Margaery could hardly believe that she had actually told someone, much less a nice girl who seemed to actually care about her. She had sworn to herself—and her mother—that nobody in their new town would find out. And yet, there she was, losing another friend.

The revelation had been bursting in her mind, demanding to be spoken. Every moment that she’d spent with an unaware Sansa, she had felt guilty. The longer she kept up a friendship with Sansa, the longer the girl would go through the same process of over-analyzing every interaction they’d ever had, recalling every time that Margaery’s touch had lingered too long or her eyes had wandered. It was better to have no friends than to grow close to someone only to have them slowly push her away once they knew about her.

And, yes, maybe Margaery had gotten a naïve idea in the back of her mind that Sansa would finally be the one to understand, to _really_ understand, and not hate her for something she had tried her hardest to change. But she didn’t think that anymore.

She drove home in a haze, thankful for the focus required for navigating the unfamiliar streets. She didn’t want to go home—home meant her mother’s angry eyes and hateful words. In the parking lot of a grubby gas station, she pulled out her phone and called Loras. He was the only one who had never come to hate her for who she was.

The call went to voicemail.


	8. brother

The moon shone bright, a nearly full circle of light pasted against a dark sky scattered with stars. It illuminated Margaery’s room in pale blue. The night sky was so much more complex here, in this small town, than it had ever been in California, where its intricacies had been masked by the brightness of the cities.

Margaery heard the door creak open. _Loras_. He walked quietly to her bedside and sat down next to her. She didn’t want to meet eyes with him, to have him know everything, but she did. She needed to talk to him, despite her wariness of revealing anything about herself to others.

She had returned home late that night, just a few minutes earlier. When Loras, who had been studying in the living room, saw her face as she walked past him and toward her bedroom, he must have known that something was wrong. He always knew.

She turned away from him, unable to look into his eyes any longer. She stared out the window again and whispered, “I told Sansa.”

Loras lay down next to her. His chest rose and fell noticeably, his breath deepening. Margaery knew that it was terrible for them to discuss _this_ together – it only made Loras feel more insecure about his own brand of _this_ – but he was the only person who truly understood. She was there for him and he was there for her, no matter the pain they caused one another.

She sensed Loras brushing his tongue over his lips. He always did that before talking about something serious, be it a school presentation or comforting his sister. It was an endearing, little thing about him that only she would notice. “I’m proud of you, Marg.”

She shook her head slightly, still lying on her side faced away from him. “You shouldn’t be. I burned another bridge.”

“You can’t think of it that way, Marg,” he told her, his soft voice comforting, even as he felt pain of his own.

“What other way is there to think of it?” She was tired, _so_ tired.

Her brother stirred beside her. After a moment, he replied. “Be proud of yourself for being able to open up to someone.”

She turned onto her back and looked straight above her, staring at the ceiling. “It doesn’t count, Loras.” He made a face and she explained, saying, “It doesn’t count because I didn’t really plan to tell her. It just kind of seemed right, until I actually told her.”

“Maybe it was right, Marg,” he suggested, taking her hand in his own.

She turned to him, nestling into his side. She had always been the stronger of the two. Loras fell apart at a single negative insinuation. Margaery, however, was never one to show her feelings. Instead, she bundled them up inside and put on a façade of cheerfulness. Moments of emotional vulnerability were rare for Margaery, but they were nearly always shared with Loras. He was the only person she could bare her soul to and trust completely.

She bit her lip and sighed. A deep, foggy fatigue had been hanging around her since that morning. “I don’t know if it will ever be right, Loras. With anyone.”

“It will be,” he reassured softly, speaking as much to himself as to her. “It has to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short! I felt like this was a pretty important scene, and I didn't want to draw it out too much and overdo it. I hope you enjoyed! I'll update soon.


	9. trust

From the drivers’ seat, her brother smiled. He offered her his hand and she squeezed his wrist. Margaery still didn’t dare to look into his eyes.

She opened the door and walked inside, thanking God that Loras was thoughtful enough to arrive to school just minutes before the first bell rang. She couldn’t stand to be in a crowd at the moment, especially not one when Sansa could appear anywhere.

Her first two classes dragged on slowly, her breath catching in a moment of panic each time she looked up at the clock and saw time ticking away before third period. She and Loras had practiced all of the many things she could say to Sansa, but with every passing second her memories of their rehearsals were torn away.

Her face drained of color when she stopped in the doorway of her history class and saw Sansa sitting at their table. Under the artificial glare of the classroom lights, Sansa’s face was soft as she stared down at her hands folded in her lap. Sansa looked up at her, meeting Margaery’s anxious eyes with her own soft ones. Margaery walked slowly, each step heavy.

She sat down beside Sansa. Margaery’s breath came out in shudders. She hoped that Sansa wouldn’t notice, but so what if she did? Margaery twisted a lock of her hair through her fingers nervously. She felt Sansa glance up at her and back to her lap.

There were just a few others in the room, but when Sansa spoke at last, her voice was hushed. “Did everything go okay with your mom?”

Margaery had rehearsed numerous scenarios with her brother, but not one of them had begun this way, with Sansa asking how she had been, with Sansa caring about anything other than her confession. Her face reddened, a wave of insecurity flooding her mind. She felt exposed and open, as if she were living the stereotypical nightmare of arriving at school naked.

Finally, she mustered the courage to speak. “I didn’t talk to her,” she mumbled, staring down at the table and twisting a piece of her hair between her fingertips. She worried that her non-answer would provoke more prodding questions.

Sansa paused shortly, hesitating before saying, “I’m always here if you need to talk.”

The table groaned noisily as one of their classmates dropped her textbook next to Margaery. She sighed in relief, grateful for the end of the awkward exchange with Sansa.

The class period was complicated. When the bell rang, Ms. Kurtis excitedly emerged from behind the mounting pile of papers on her desk, map in hand. As their wildly grinning teacher approached the front of the room, Margaery noticed with a twinge that Sansa shrank back in her chair, away from her. Ms. Kurtis announced to the classroom that they were beginning a map-drawing project with their table groups. As Ms. Kurtis passed out the poster paper for the project, Margaery clenched her arm tightly, her long fingernails digging white half-moon imprints into her golden skin.

Margaery didn’t say anything. Sansa pulled her chair close to the table, gathering her auburn hair in one hand and sweeping it to the side, exposing her pale neck. Margaery swallowed hard and pulled her eyes away. She badly wanted to feign disinterest, to be able to not look at her friend, but Sansa was too _there_ , too fascinating. It wasn’t only Sansa’s striking beauty that drew Margaery’s eyes, but more the mystery hanging around her.

Margaery’s mind raced from thought to thought, contemplating Sansa’s actions. It was a given that she must have been shaken by Margaery’s admission—who wouldn’t be?—but her actions had not shown it. The girl was a conundrum. In the short time since they had met, Sansa had proven to be one of the most compassionate, but oddly withdrawn, people she had ever known. She was happiest when with others, yet she rarely ventured out with friends, aside from spending time with Joffrey. She was silent in crowds, yet very sharing and open on an individual basis.

She was Margaery’s polar opposite.

As Margaery’s mind rushed between thoughts, she stared idly down at her hands. Sansa remained withdrawn as the rest of the group took charge of the project. This quietness wasn’t atypical of Sansa, by any means, but Margaery still worried that maybe Sansa’s withdrawnness reflected a troubled state of mind. Margaery glanced up at the clock anxiously, preparing to rush out of class and to Loras’s Jeep, where she could eat lunch in peace, away from the pressing existence of someone who _knew_.

Sansa didn’t let that happen. As soon as the bell rang, she grabbed onto Margaery’s wrist. Startled at the sudden, burning touch, Margaery met Sansa’s eyes. “Come with me,” Sansa said commandingly, a tone Margaery had never heard her use.

Margaery didn’t have any response other than acquiescence. She felt numb, void of things to say. She usually was able to put a wide smile on her face and wade through uncomfortable situations, but on Saturday morning she had dropped herself in the center of a tempestuous ocean of anxiety and forgotten how to tread water.

She was led to Sansa’s car, a small, blue hatchback. They sat in the rear-facing seats in the back, Sansa cross-legged on the floor and Margaery on the seat, her knees pulled up to her chest. Sansa met her eyes, and, after waiting a long pause, spoke.

“You have to talk to me,” she said, exhaling deeply.

She felt a twinge of guilt in her chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Kindness filled her words, the true compassion that had drawn Margaery to the girl in the first place. “Margaery, I don’t care that you’re gay.”

She flinched involuntarily as Sansa said _that_ word. She hated it. She hesitated, bit her lip, and, avoiding Sansa’s eyes, said, “Thanks, Sansa. That really means a lot.” She tried to say the words in seriousness, but disbelief and doubt colored her voice.

Sansa shook her head and scrunched her eyebrows together, crinkling her forehead. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“It doesn’t _matter_?”

Softly, Sansa said, “No.”

 Margaery fell silent, staring straight ahead, her expression austere. After a long pause, she said, in a hushed tone just above a whisper, “Nobody can find out.”

Shaking her head again, Sansa said, “I won’t tell anyone.”

This pulled Margaery out of her catatonic state. She shifted, quickly putting her legs down so that they hung over the edge of the seat and meeting Sansa’s eyes with her own. “I’m serious,” Margaery said.

Sansa exhaled in annoyance, her blue eyes adopting a fiery undertone. “I don’t know why you can’t trust me with this, Margaery. I know we haven’t known each other for long, but you _can_ trust me. It’s kind of frustrating that you don’t see that.”

Margaery shifted again on the bench seat. She had no option but to trust Sansa; her stupidity in even telling the girl her secret to begin with had ensured that. Somehow, despite the screams in her mind that she was making a terrible choice and setting herself up for another heartbreaking loss of a friend, she wanted to trust Sansa. In Sansa’s eyes, she saw someone who truly did appear to care about her.

Margaery pulled Sansa into a close hug, forgetting her paramount rule against touch. The girl’s necklace dug into Margaery’s chest and her auburn hair got in her eyes, but she was warm and soft and smelled like apples, and her arms felt kind.


	10. mall

Staring at a blinking traffic light ahead of her, Margaery felt some semblance of happiness. Her heart was clenched within her chest and her hands would have shaken if they weren’t trapped between her knees, but she was calmer than she had felt for days.

Looking over at the driver’s seat, she knew she shouldn’t be feeling so content. Sansa glanced over at her with a smile. In the reflection of the girl’s mirrored sunglasses, Margaery could see her own face. Quickly, she averted her eyes and looked back at the blinking light.

As Sansa accelerated from a stop, she turned the radio town. “So, Margaery. Which store first?”

Margaery didn’t know why she had agreed to go to the mall with Sansa after school. That wasn’t exactly true—she wanted to get away from her mother’s judgmental eyes—but why had she chosen to hang out with _Sansa_ , the one person at this new school who she could no longer be around without feeling all-too-conscious of her every action.

Margaery smirked. “I need some new shoes, I suppose,” she said sweetly, trying to push those thoughts out of her head with her typical false positivity. Loras didn’t think that it was healthy for her to disguise her emotions all the time, but he was an emotional wreck. She much preferred her method.

Sansa was twisting her head around, looking behind her as she shifted lanes, but Margaery sense the smile in her voice as she responded positively, telling her that she would park near the entrance closest to her favorite shoe store.

Walking inside, Margaery noted that even the malls in Washington were different. Margaery had travelled a lot and had seen many vastly different places, but living somewhere new took some getting used to. In southern California, malls usually had central courtyards outside and palm trees and fountains. Here, they were ugly, harsh buildings. They were decorated nicely, but didn’t have the plants or natural light she was accustomed to. Without skylights overhead, the floors shone with white ovals reflected from the warm light fixtures overhead. Everything was different in this town.

They were quiet as they walked through the store. It was small, but the girls looked at each display slowly. The tension in the air was nearly tangible, and they orbited in rhythm, Margaery the sun and Sansa revolving around her. Margaery sensed Sansa watching her timidly on her as they browsed.

She had never really felt uncomfortable with eyes on her, but something about Sansa’s stare made her heart tighten. After it became too much, she finally turned to Sansa. “What?” she asked in frustration.

Sansa appeared startled. “What?” she responded distantly, as if pulled from a trance.

“Why are you staring at me?” Margaery said, frustrated and frowning.

Sansa shook her head softly. “I wasn’t,” she said. “I’m not.” After Margaery shot her a look, Sansa wetted her lips and continued shyly. “I was just thinking about this morning.”

Margaery felt a nervous shiver run down her spine. “Yeah?” she said, hoping to get her to talk.

Sansa sighed deeply and wetted her lips again. She twisted between her fingers the lace of a shoe on the table in front of her. “Are you okay? If you ever need to get away from your family, I’m always here. I don’t want you to be in danger,” Sansa said timidly.

Margaery looked away, her face flushing. Sansa stared down at her hands. Taking a pair of gray tennis shoes in her hands, she breathed deeply. “My mom’s not dangerous,” she said embarrassedly, hurriedly. “She’s just not the most understanding. She doesn’t want me to be hurt.”

Sansa pressed Margaery’s hand. “Okay,” she said, her eyes soft and sympathetic. “I was worried for you, Marg.”

Margaery shook her head, as much shaking off the kindness as the need for concern. “She’s fine. She’s angry, really angry, but she’s fine. She wants my happiness, that’s all.”

In Sansa’s eyes, Margaery could see that she was filled with questions and consolations, but they turned back to shoes in silence. Somehow, they drifted into a normal conversation as they decided which pair of flats would go best with Margaery’s wardrobe. They spoke quietly and with pauses, but it was more than Margaery had expected would ever happen with Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated in weeks! I've been really busy with school. I'm not abandoning this fic, though!! Don't worry. This chapter was kind of lame, but I'm currently writing the next chapter from Sansa's perspective again, so I needed a little transition. Sorrrrryyyyyyy!


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